September 09, 2015

When we think back on the summer of 2015 in Kansas City, we might call this the “Summer of the Kickstarter Campaign."

Folks with food and beverage aspirations, stepped up this summer to ask for financial help from their family and friends to fund new artisan food products, food trucks, restaurants and bars. They spent their spring taping intro videos and planning gift levels to launch month-long Kickstarter campaigns, hoping to fund their dream and add something unique to the food and drink scene in Kansas City.

Many of us heard their call, and dug deep into our pockets and gave to those places we felt were really needed in Kansas City. Now, just like us, those people who funded and received their Kickstarter contributions can’t wait until the construction is complete so they can start to give back to those who gave so generously to their campaigns.

With summer in our rear view mirror, it is time to check in with those Kickstarters on the frontline of funded food to get an update on when we can look forward to seeing their faces in these new spaces.

Concept: Magnolia’s

Owners: Chef Shanita McAfee Bryant

Raised on Kickstarter: $15,145

Number of Backers: 142

Funded on: July 30th, 2015

Estimated opening date: Middle of September 2015

Chef Shanita McAfee-Bryant decided to move her existing restaurant, Magnolia’s to a new neighborhood earlier this year. After finding just the right location, she started to remodel the space, sinking much of her savings into the work. That’s when she realize that her new space was going to need more work, than she had capital, and she needed a bit of help to get the place finished.

She launched her Kickstarter campaign in July and by the end of the month had raised the $15,000 needed to finish the remodel of her new location offering enticing gifts for those that donated like “gumbo for life.”

The young chef flew onto the national radar when she won an episode of Food Network’s, television show, Cutthroat Kitchen, beating out her challengers in a competitive cooking environment and winning almost $15,000 in the process, which she had sunk into her new restaurant remodel.

The new Magnolia’s boasts a much larger kitchen, full bar and a private room where she can host large family gatherings serving fried chicken dinners with all the fixings.

She is honest about the amount of work that it takes mentally to run a successful Kickstarter campaign.

“The Kickstarter campaign was exhausting, and I had to take a slight mental break after it was over to regroup,” Bryant says.

You can expect to taste Magnolia’s red velvet waffles once again by mid-September 2015.

“Breakfast by day and ramen by night” was the rallying cry for married couple chefs Josh and Abbey-Jo Eans, who launched their Kickstarter campaign in late March as they announced plans to open Columbus Park Ramen Shop in the 450-square foot garage space behind their current breakfast and lunch restaurant, Happy Gillis.

Kansas City has been observing the exciting progress on their new space all summer, and the couple has kept us up-to-date by posting updates and photos of each step as they completed it, just as they promised they would do as part of their Kickstarter campaign. On social media, they even asked people what they thought of the paint colors, patio and overall feel of their new space as it was all coming together with help from the folks at Utilitarian Workshop.

Their Kickstarter campaign for Columbus Park Ramen Shop raised $41,000 which went to renovate their space, including upgrades to electrical and plumbing, a new bathroom, a new outdoor patio, restoration of an old walk-in that was being used for dry storage, and beautiful hand-made ramen bowls made Columbus Park potter, Paul Mallory, who made all of the Happy Gillis coffee mugs.

“Things are going great, the construction is just about finished, and we have just a few things left to do,” says Josh Eans.

Columbus Park Ramen Shop is currently hiring with hours available Thursday through Sunday, dinner only, 5:30 pm – 10:30 pm. The long-awaited menu will serve four to five kinds of ramen including tonkotsu, chicken, dashi and vegetarian. Canned craft beer and unique Japanese sodas are the planned drink offerings.

“The space looks great, and we couldn't be happier with it,” Eans says.

Be looking for Columbus Park Ramen Shop to open their doors in late September 2015.

For years, Christopher Ciesiel and his wife, Cristin Llewellyn, had been hosting private cocktail parties for friends in their backyard from a stylishly rustic lounge they created out of a shed, the two affectionately called, The Campground.

Having found just the right location, the couple decided they were ready to take The Campground public, with Ciesiel shaking up cocktails behind the bar, and Llewellyn working the front of the house. So, in late July the couple launched their own Kickstarter campaign for the build-out of their tiny bar in Westport.

The couple raised over $20,000 with their month-long Kickstarter campaign making The Campground a reality for themselves, and Kansas City, as well.

“The funds will hopefully be released to us in the next week, as Kickstarter has to verify everyone's pledges and also take their cut,” Ciesiel says.

The two had been entertaining groups of 25 people in their backyard shed, so they plan to keep their new bar space around the same size. The layout of the space will have about 10 seats at the bar itself, and the rest will be bar tops and standing room only.

“We have been working on our branding with Utilitarian Workshop, and we should have a finished identity this week,” Ciesiel says.

They have decided to jump on the space next door to their original location, so now they will be opening at 8 Westport Road, Kansas City, MO.

“Our architect pulled permits on two different spaces, and after considering them both, we think 8 Westport Road would best suit our needs and what we are trying to do,” he says.

Hours of operation for The Campground will be Tuesday – Saturday from 3 pm to 11 pm. With a new baby at home, the couple has no plans to make this a late night joint.

“It has been totally overwhelming and humbling having Kansas City and beyond back you up. It's lighting a bigger fire under us to work harder and be better,” Ciesiel says.

Expect to see The Campground shaking and stirring it up on the Kansas City cocktail scene in the spring of 2016.

The NEWEST Restaurant to launch a Kickstarter Campaign in Kansas City:

Concept: Doughnut Lounge

Owner: Jake Randall

Kickstarter Goal: $25,000

Currently Raised on Kickstarter: $6,335

Current Number of Backers: 129

Number of days left on Campaign: 22

Closing Date of Kickstarter Campaign: October 1st, 2015

Estimated opening date: Early 2016

Kansas City is about to get its very own next-level donut shop.

Last week, local entrepreneur Jake Randall launched a Kickstarter campaign to get Doughnut Lounge off the ground in Westport.

Randall has a business background, as well as experience owning and managing coffee shops. At Doughnut Lounge, he wants to pair great coffee with creative and delicious doughnuts by day, and cocktail pairings by night – all in a cozy and comfortable environment.

Three categories of donuts will be available at the shop. Classic, old-fashioned varieties will include both yeast-risen and cake donuts. Next, more creative creations will include flavors like double chocolate nutella, s’mores, crème brûlée and maple bacon. Finally, Doughnut Lounge will combine its donuts with favorite savory foods, such as pizza, biscuits and gravy or mac 'n' cheese.

The construction and buildout of Doughnut Lounge’s 2,500-square-foot space is currently underway behind the paper covering his storefront windows. Randall, like many entrepreneurs, has faced unexpected construction costs and delays that ate away more of his budget than he anticipated. He hopes that with this Kickstarter campaign, and a little help from his friends and neighbors, he can get the doors open as quickly as possible.

The online campaign is aimed at raising the final nest egg needed to get the baristas, pastry chefs and bartenders in place to open the doors. The $25,000 Randall hopes to raise will sustain his initial payroll and cover opening operational costs.

The Kickstarter rewards for the campaign offer something for every level of donation. From the doughnut-obsessed to the business executive wanting donuts and coffee delivered to his office for free for an entire year, Randall has all his customer bases covered. There are invitations for two to the opening party, and the opportunity to get one free doughnut, per day, for life.

Doughnut Lounge will feature a coffee bar with a full-time barista, as well as a bar serving beer, wine and specialty cocktails. Randall insists, though, that Doughnut Lounge is a donut shop first.

“We are not a daytime coffee shop that serves donuts, or a late-night bar that serves cocktails to pair with our doughnuts,” he says, “we are a donut shop first and foremost.”

Randall confesses he, and his handful of investors, were reluctant to host a Kickstarter for Doughnut Lounge in the beginning, because he thought he had secured what he needed to open the place.

“We fought the idea of doing a Kickstarter in the beginning, because we didn’t want to ask our friends, family and community for any additional capital if we didn’t need it, and at the time we thought we had enough to get everything done,” he says.

The hole in Doughnut Lounge’s plan all came down to unexpected construction delays, additional expenses and finally, the pain of having to start over from scratch with a new design/build team.

“I trusted these people, and I still trust people, in spite of what happened to me on this project,” Randall tells Feast. “I have a wife and two kids who believe in me and this idea, so I simply cannot let this stop me.”

Transitioning the space, formerly home to clothing store Imagery, into a restaurant with a full commercial kitchen and hood has not been a walk in the park for Randall and his team. Doughnut Lounge is also located in a historic building with rules and regulations to manage, and everything needed overhauling and upgrading.

“If this Kickstarter doesn’t fund, and I hope it will, it will not the end of the world for me, or Doughnut Lounge,” Randall says.

The donuts will rise in Westport, he assures.

The Doughnut Lounge Kickstarter will end on Thurs., Oct. 1 at 10 pm. To learn more about how you can support the project, visit the Kickstarter here.

May 10, 2015

When René Bollier stepped up to take over operations at Kansas City’s oldest and most beloved chocolate shop, Andre’s Chocolates Confiserie Suisse, he knew that he wanted to play a more active role in the local food community.

A 39-year old father of three, Bollier wanted his time at the wheel of the third-generation family company to involve more calculated risk-taking, innovation and collaboration with other food-centered businesses.

That promise inspired his decision to make a dark-chocolate-covered cordial made with local J. Rieger & Co. Kansas City Whiskey, instead of the more traditional German liqueur called kirsch or kirschwasser.

“We’ve always made the traditional European cordials with kirsch in our shop,” said Bollier, “but they never sold very well, and they are very time-consuming to make, taking up to three days, and thus are expensive to buy, as well.”

Inspiration struck when Bollier began drawing up ideas for a Feb. 12 event at the WW1 Museum, Operation Indulgence: Whiskey & Chocolate. As he contemplated bringing the two wartime luxuries together into one indulgent bite, the idea for Kansas City Whiskey Cordials was born.

When he contacted J. Rieger & Co. co-owner Ryan Maybee, the response was quick – and enthusiastic. Maybee and his partner Andy Rieger even provided Bollier with an image of the J. Rieger & Co. logo, so that Bollier could make an edible transfer to mark the top of each cordial.

The cordials were an instant hit at the event, with people stopping by repeatedly to sample them during the night.

And that might have been that.

“It didn’t occur to me to make them to sell in our chocolate shop,” Bollier says. “I just looked at it as a grand experiment, that worked.”

But the people who had tasted the cordials at the event told their friends, who told their friends. The shop started getting phone calls and requests for boxes of the whiskey-filled cordials. “If I could have predicted the word of mouth for those cordials, I could have sold boxes and boxes of them for Valentine’s Day,” Bollier says.

Lesson learned. Bollier and his team are now in production to make the whiskey cordials to sell year-round.

They start the 3-day production process by shooting one ounce of the whiskey mixed with a little simple syrup into corn starch molds. They dust the tops with more corn starch before letting them rest and harden overnight.

The next day, the delicate cordials have formed a sugar shell holding the whiskey inside. At this point, the candies are very delicate, so to get all the excess corn starch off of them they use a light hand and make-up brushes. The cordials are then left to cure and dry for one more night.

On the third day they are sent through the machine that pours liquid dark chocolate over the hard candy shell. They’re left to rest and harden before edible J. Rieger & Co. transfers are placed on top of each cordial. They’re then wrapped in gold foil and placed inside the candy counter to sell for $1.50 each.

Even Bollier is blown away by the taste.

“I knew the cordials would be good, but I didn’t know they would be THIS good,” he says. “It is the hint of sweetness from the Spanish sherry that they put in their whiskey that makes it taste so delicious when it is covered in dark chocolate.”

The executive chef/owner offers a piece of advice for anyone who wants to come in and try one.

“Make sure to eat the chocolate in one bite, because a quarter-ounce of whiskey will come pouring out all over you if you don’t,” he says.

September 12, 2014

This summer I have had a burning fascination with hot chicken. Every time I would see this southern delicacy either in, or on the cover, of a national food magazine, I would think: “THAT sounds amazing.” My mouth would water just thinking about its crunchy, yet juicy, red-hot spicy goodness. Seeing that fried chicken was the dish “du jour” last summer, it only makes sense that its spicy little sister, hot chicken, would take a turn in the spotlight this summer. So, I decided to I had to scheme a way to get some into my mouth, before the “summer of hot chicken” drew to a close.

For those of you unfamiliar, hot chicken is basically spicy fried chicken. It starts by marinating chicken pieces in a lethal hot sauce. Next, a paste is made from mixing one-part lard, to three-parts cayenne pepper. The paste is then smeared all over the marinated chicken before it is dredged in flour and fried. The more paste that it added to the chicken, the hotter it will be. Once the chicken is fried, then it is doused again with a liquid version of lard and cayenne and served on a couple of pieces of white bread with some dill pickles on top. The presentation of the hot chicken on the white bread and pickles is considered a mandatory part of enjoying this specialty, as the chicken grease, sauce and juices runs down onto the bread as you eat it, which you then in turn eat as a part of your meal. Hot chicken on white bread is a gift that keeps on giving.

Prince’s Hot Chicken Shack in Nashville is credited for inventing this type of fried chicken that hurts so good. The legend has it that hot chicken was invented when the great uncle, of the owner of Prince’s, had stayed out all night long. When he got home, his lady friend, none too happy about his night out, carousing, decided to get her revenge by dousing his breakfast of fried chicken with hot sauce before serving it to him. He ate it, and liked it, and Prince’s Hot Chicken was born. I hear that story, and all I can think is, this woman’s plan backfired. There is no incentive for him to stop carousing, if his woman is fixing him a dish he loves when he gets home. Duh!

In Nashville, there are few things more sacred than hot chicken. It has a following. It is a religion. You must go and worship at its alter when you are traveling through. I discovered, that I am a woman, in need of some religion.

My first thought, was just to try to make it at home. I am a good home cook and enjoy culinary experiments and projects as much as the next gal, but fried chicken was daunting. It is up there in culinary difficulty, next to the perfect pie crust and homemade yeast rolls, in my book. I had never even made plain fried chicken before, and neither had my Mom. So with no cast iron skillet to use, no role models to look up to, and no family recipes to refer, I decided to take a more strategic approach to quench my craving for hot chicken.

I thought, “If hot chicken starts with good fried chicken, then who makes the best fried chicken in Kansas City?” James Beard Award winner, Chef Colby Garrelts and his kitchen crew at Rye, that’s who, came the answer from within. I am clearly not alone in this opinion. Almost from the moment Colby and his wife Megan, opened their new restaurant, Rye, their fried chicken was the most popular dish on the menu.

If I was a woman in need of some “hot chicken” religion, I was about to make Chef Colby Garrelts my preacher man.

So, my “ask strategy” was to play it cool, but apply a bit of social media finesse to my request. I decided to hop on Twitter and generically tweeted something like: “Chef @colbygarrelts is the right person to make and serve hot chicken in KC.” I just threw a little bait into the social media waters, to see if Chef would bite. Within a few minutes, Chef Colby had tweeted back to me saying he had been playing around with it at the restaurant and invited me in to taste his version of “hot chicken” for myself. Yesssss. Mission accomplished.

We arranged to enjoy this hot chicken meal on a Thursday afternoon at Rye. I had been racing from one appointment to the next that day, when I finally hit their doors at 1:30 pm I was famished and ready to have my first “hot chicken” experience.

I was shown to the copper-top Chef’s table in front of the line, facing the kitchen at Rye. Best seat in the house, this is going to be good, I remember thinking. Chef Colby came over and explained that he was going to send out the hot chicken and a few side dishes for me to try. The anticipation was killing me, but I tried not to let it show.

A lovely green salad came out of the cold station at Rye first, as Colby dropped them off he said: “A healthy green salad before you sin.” That was followed by his steak tartare, which as good as it was, I was only able to eat a few bites of in anticipation for the main event.

Finally, I heard Chef yell back into the kitchen to “Fire the hot chicken.” Within minutes, two sizzling platters of hot chicken hit my table, it was the equivalent of a whole chicken that had been broken down, spiced up, fried up and served up. Next, came a dizzying array of side dishes from the kitchen. Green beans, cottage fries, macaroni and cheese and of course thick white Texas Toast and house-made pickles.

The first thing I noticed was that the hot chicken was served crispy and perfectly dry. No hot sauce had been heaped over the chicken as they do at Prince’s in Nashville. Colby quickly explained that he would never serve anything in his restaurant that wasn’t edible.

“I’m not going to fix anything that you would be miserable eating. I’m not about extreme eating challenges,” he said.

Honestly, I appreciated his point of view. It was a revelation. It made me realize, as much as I wanted to try hot chicken, I wasn’t interested in the “how hot can you go” part of this dish. I wanted to taste it, and enjoy it, not win a t-shirt and bragging rights. I wanted it spicy, but not too spicy to eat.

He told us the spice was definitely there, but it was subtle enough heat where “you might actually be able to eat and entire piece of chicken without needing a glass of milk to cool your tastebuds down.” He called his hot chicken more of a Memphis, “dry-style” of hot chicken.

With the explanations out of the way, it was finally time to try this long anticipated specialty. Colby was right, the spice was super subtle and in the background. I finished a thigh crunching through the crispy battered skin and pulling the juicy chicken from the bone. It was like great fried chicken, with just a bit more spice and seasoning. I was trying to decide if I was disappointed. I went for a drumstick next, allowing myself to take the time to think about the chicken and all of its flavors in my mouth. About the time I started in on my second piece of hot chicken, I could feel the slow burn of the cayenne pepper creeping up the back of my throat. By the time I finished the second piece of hot chicken, my lips were burning. THERE was the spice I had been looking for from my hot chicken.

On my third piece of hot chicken, I decided to douse it with Colby’s house-made hot sauce to see if I could replicate the Nashville wet-style of hot chicken. This was probably my favorite piece of all. This piece was less subtle in heat than the others, but not so hot that I could not finish it, which I did, wiping my sticky fingers on my napkin and grinning like a naughty schoolgirl. I had finally tried hot chicken. Maybe not the way Prince’s in Nashville would serve it to me, but the way a local Chef interpreted the dish for me.

Colby’s kitchen crew all filed by me then, some stopping to chat and look at the hot chicken in front of me. As they each stopped by the counter, looking longingly at the embarrassing amount of left over hot chicken I had in front of me, I offered them each a piece. That’s when Colby came over and confessed that he had only made his version of hot chicken for family meal for his staff at Rye. I was eating one of their favorite treats.

I thanked Colby for serving me his version of “hot chicken,” as I asked my waitress for the bill. I asked Colby then, if this was a dish he was planning to put on the menu at Rye. He looked down at my leftovers, and finally shaking his head no, said he didn’t think so. He said he wasn’t sure if his clientele at Rye was looking for hot chicken from him. Finally, he confessed that if enough people came in looking for hot chicken, he might consider adding it to the menu . . . MAYBE.

So, the moral of this story is . . .ask, and ye MIGHT receive, hot chicken in the future at Rye. Amen.

August 25, 2014

I just spent the weekend in Bentonville, AR with a group I was touring from JCCC's Friends with Taste. We stayed at the glorious 21c Museum Hotel located a short yet scenic walk away from the Crystal Bridges Museum and the main downtown square of Bentonville. Everytime someone at the 21c Museum Hotel in Bentonville would ask our group where we were from, and we told them Kansas City, we always got the same response: "Did you know that we are planning to open a 21c Museum Hotel in downtown Kansas City at The Savoy?" THIS was news to me. Exciting news. Long awaited news. SOMEONE needs to do SOMETHING with this landmark piece of history in Kansas City.

The Savoy Grill & Hotel was built in 1888, with the restaurant added in 1903, in downtown Kansas City at the cross streets of 9th and Central where it still stands today. Being over 110 years old, the hotel was the first luxury hotel of it's time in Kansas City. It has hosted many wealthy cattlemen and grain merchants, along with visiting celebrities, movie stars and Presidents across the decades. In it's heyday, it boasted a rooftop garden, ballroom, Italian tile floors, marble walls, a stained glass skylight and carved oak woodwork, and many of these features can still be seen in the hotel & restaurant today. In 1975, the building was listed on the National Register of Historic Places, marking it worthy of preservation. Today, The Savoy Grill & Hotel is remarkably still open for business. Two floors of the hotel have been remodeled into a bed & breakfast and The Savoy Grill, the oldest restaurant in Kansas City, is still serving lunch and dinner from 10:30 am to 9:00 pm, 7 days a week. Talk about living history. There has even been talk of the hotel and restaurant being haunted, which to me, only adds to the rich storytelling value of this historic building in Kansas City.

Over the last few years, many local KC Chefs and restaurateurs have been tromped through the restaurant and kitchen to see if one of them would be interested in taking over the operations of the historic restaurant. While everyone who has seen the space, appreciates the look and feel of the historic dining room and bar, they all agree that the menu has remained frozen in time, and that food quality has diminished over the years.

The kitchen at The Savoy Grill is rumored to be one of the biggest commercial kitchens in the city, but most of the equipment in there is from circa 1965, which has kept most of the serious Chefs from biting on the opportunity. It would simply cost too much money to start over. The kitchen was more than likely remodeled in 1965, which was same year that Don Lee purchased The Savoy in the hopes of making the restaurant a Kansas City destination, after years of neglect and gradual decline. Lee came from a veteran restaurant family, and purchased the hotel, as a way to ensure the lease on the restaurant. Lee was successful and The Savoy Grill enjoyed a period of renewed success in the 1970's through the 1990's where The Savoy Grill became a place for high-dollar business lunches and a romantic location for tourists and out-of-town guests to enjoy a traditional steak dinner. Remember, this was all before our downtown area was actually a place you wanted to be, unlike today with the Crossroads Art Galleries, The Sprint Center, The Kauffman Center for Performing Arts and the Power & Light District. This place survived at a time when there was no reason to be downtown after 5 pm.

In 1985, Lee would begin the renovations on the hotel to turn it into the bed and breakfast that it is today. See this promotional video below done after the renovations as a way to promote the newly remodeled hotel.

Although, everyone agrees when it comes to The Savoy Grill & Hotel, "the old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be." That being said, there is no doubt that Don Lee is the Kansas City restaurateur responsible for keeping the restaurant and hotel open through economic depressions, a blighted downtown, the tighting of corporate budgets and reduced tourism after 911. Kansas City owes him a debt of thanks for being the keeper of this small part of our city's rich history. Thank you, Mr. Lee.

I am crazy about this hotel chain, which currently has locations in Louisville, KY, Cincinnati, OH, Bentonville, AR, with locations opening soon in Durham, NC, Lexington, KY, Oklahoma City, OK and finally Kansas City, MO. I think that they might just be the perfect group to come and do something wonderful with our beloved historic Savoy Grill & Hotel in Kansas City. All of the hotels in the chain, with the exception of the Bentonville location, are built from rehabbing older historic hotels, so you can rest easy that they will not be tearing The Savoy down to build something new. Instead they plan to bring back some of the former glory to her bones, while they morph it into a destination art hotel & restaurant.

Below is an interview with the couple that owns the 21c Museum Hotel chain, Laura Lee Brown and Steve Wilson, talking about their inspiration and hopes and dreams for the hotel. Notice the nuzzle Steve gives Laura Lee at the end of this video. Grrrr. Adorable. I heart them, and I think you will heart the 21c Museum Hotel.

So, know that The Savoy Grill & Hotel only has a short time left in it's current historical condition. Make your plans to go in for one last celebratory meal at The Savoy to honor and celebrate all that it once was, and to toast to all that it will become as a new 21c Museum Hotel.

August 08, 2014

For the last year, I have been consulting with Johnson County Community College Hospitality and Culinary Department. I've been doing their culinary event planning for their gorgeous new, $13 million dollar, Hospitality and Culinary Academy. This is one of the most highly accredited culinary schools in the nation right now, and it is right here, in Kansas City. Most of the work I do for them, centers around creating unique food events for members of their culinary donor group called, Friends with Taste. Anyone can become a member of Friends with Taste, for as little as $100 per year, per couple. This is your donation to the culinary school, or simply the price of admission to Friends with Taste. Then once you are a member, you will be sent email invitations to attend monthly dinners, classes or even trips with other members of Friends with Taste. The money we charge for each of these events goes directly to the culinary students to help fund their culinary competitions, buy equipment and provide scholarships for the culinary students who need them. I have completely enjoyed working with JCCC and my Friends with Taste group. How could I not love helping the future Chefs of Kansas City? It IS the biggest part of why I do, what I do, for a living.

During our first year of Friends with Taste, we have hosted the following events:

If you are interested, I'd like to invite you to our next Friends with Taste event. It is a Foodie Field Trip to Bentonville, AR. Join me, and a total of 24 other Friends with Taste members, in Bentonville, AR on August 15th - 17th. If you have never been to Bentonville to see the Crystal Bridges and you are a food lover, then this little weekend away might be your perfect excuse to join us. I am calling the excursion, "Arts & Eats: A Tour of Bentonville, AR."

Group Tours not your thing? No problem. I have set his up to give you ultimate flexibility. First, you are responsible for getting there on your own. (No, tour buses will be used in the making of this field trip.) Bentonville is an easy 3.5 hour drive from Kansas City. Second, you are also responsible for choosing and booking your own hotel room. I highly recommend the 21c Museum Hotel in the heart of downtown Bentonville. All of our activities and dinners are within walking distance to the hotel, so once you arrive, if you stay here you will not need your car the rest of the weekend.

Saturday we will be met by the Culinary Director for the Crystal Bridges museum, Chef Case Dighero, who will take us on a walking tour of the Farmer's Market in picturesque downtown Bentonville. Then we will spend some time at the Spice & Tea Exchange meeting the owner, Bill Oakley, and speaking to him about the spices that the local Chefs use in their restaurants. Lunch will be at local favorite, Tusk & Trotter. You will meet Sous Chef Jonathan Morrow and hear a little more about what inspires Tusk & Trotter’s “protein-centric” approach to food. Free time for the rest of Saturday afternoon gives you plenty of time to take in the Wal-Mart museum, head back to Crystal Bridges or do a little shopping downtown. Dinner Saturday night will be at THE HIVE inside of the 21c Museum Hotel. Executive Sous Chef Luke Wetzel, who will come out to our table and be our guided tour as he discusses his 3-course meal with wine pairings with our group.

Sunday we will meet for breakfast one last time across the street from 21c Museum Hotel for a breakfast from the Crepes Paulette food truck. They will be opening 1 hour earlier for just our group and we will enjoy our final meal of the trip noshing on crepes and coffee that have the locals lined up around the block. After that, you are free to continue exploring the city or head back home.

Price for this trip is $300 per person and includes all meals and drinks and experiences mentioned above. For more information, or to book this trip, email the JCCC Foundation at: foundation.dept@jccc.edu or call 913-469-3835.

But, planning this trip to Bentonville for Friends with Taste has not been my only experience with the culinary arts meeting the fine arts in this new consulting position. Let me give you another fine example. I was recently setting up the dining room for the final culinary competition practice dinner that the JCCC culinary students were hosting for Friends with Taste members in preparation for the upcoming ACF culinary competition. The American Culinary Federation (ACF) convention was held last month in Kansas City. (SPOILER ALERT: I am pleased to tell you that our student culinary team from JCCC won the American Culinary Federation National Student Team Championship. All of us who have worked with this student team are beyond proud of them. You can't imagine how hard they have worked for this.)

So, back to my story, the dinner was held at the new Hospitality and Culinary Academy at Johnson County Community College. As I was setting each table with silverware for the dinner, I suddenly spied a package sitting outside the building in a strange out-of-the-way corner. Who knows how long it had been there for? I said, "Let's go get that package out of the line of sight of our guests, tonight." When it was brought inside it was revealed that it was a gift from a local artist calling himself, Anson the Ornery.

Flipping it over, we rip off the plastic that says FREE PAINTING to reveal a colorful painting with a note on the back that says:

"Free Painting Series. Hooray! You have found one of my free paintings.

Who am I? I'm Anson, a local Kansas City artist. I have placed two hundred paintings all over KC in the hopes that you will be kind enough to send me a picture of this painting hanging in your home. No name, no address, no info required. You can even create a fake email just to send me a picture to my ansontheonery@gmail.com. I hope you will choose to participate in my artwork.

Whether you respond or not, I hope you will enjoy my painting. Thank you. Anson the Onery. www. ansontheonery.com."

We decided then and there that the painting would be hung inside of the new Hospitality and Culinary Academy, as that was where it was found. We have painting 50/200, signed by Anson himself. There it was . . .the culinary arts mixing with the fine arts. It is little things like this that still give me hope in this world. Hope for happiness . . .kindness . . .surprises . . .and art, of all kinds.

July 24, 2014

I am all about alternative business models, being a bit of one, myself. So, it should come as no surprise, as someone who likes to go out to eat, meet friends, take in a concert and basically enjoy my city it is nice to have a car service that actually picks you up (when they say they are going to) and delivers you home safe and in one piece for a reasonable amount of time and money. Before Uber, these had not been my experiences with car services in Kansas City. Face it. We are not a taxi cab kind of town.

So when I got an email from Uber saying that they would deliver 5 different kinds of ice cream to wherever I was today between 11 am - 5 pm, I thought . . .Why not? Who doesn't love ice cream? It is summer after all, and frankly I was curious as to how it would would all work.

Simply use your Uber app and hit the button that says ice cream at the bottom of your main screen. It will show your current address to confirm that is where you want it delivered and then you hit confirm and a Uber driver (or so I thought) is dispatched to your address.

When the Uber app announced that they were at my doorstep, I ran downstairs to meet them. That's when I realized they had brought an ice cream truck to make their delivery. Right behind them, pulled a silver car, which I assumed was my Uber driver that had accompanied the ice cream trucks they hired for the day to my door. I headed for the driver of the silver car who was coming around towards me, while talking to the driver of the ice cream truck. They definitely seemed to be on the same team.

I held out my hand and introduced myself, as the woman's face changed to confusion, she extended her hand none the less and I shook it. I said to her, "Thanks for coming, this is such a cool idea." She looked at me blankly, so I tried again, "So, how does this work, what do you need?"

She then said, "Oh, I am just here to get some ice cream, same as you." That's when she headed back to her car to pull out some swag or paperwork or something for me.

At that moment, a perky brunette jumped down out of the ice cream truck with a pair of hot pink sunglasses that said UBER on them and a t-shirt that had Uber's logo on it and said: "Hi Jenny, I am from Uber and your ice cream has arrived."

THAT'S when I realized, the woman I had introduced myself to in the silver car . . .was not with Uber at all. She was simply a harried Mom with all of her kids in the back seat, all of whom were demanding ice cream from the ice cream truck. She was disappointed when the Uber rep explained to her that they weren't a real ice cream truck that they were with Uber and you had to order the truck from the app to get ice cream . . .the woman (and her kids) quickly apologized and drove away.

I should have offered to by them some ice cream, but they were gone before I even knew what was going on.

June 10, 2014

To go along with my post called Creamy Tomato Soup and Grilled Cheese Sandwiches, I have just one more bonus story for you about my experience with the healing power of tomato soup and grilled cheese. It's just one for my baby, and one more for the road, guys. Enjoy!

So, I had just begun dating "Cowboy," when I found myself coming home from Oklahoma City, where I had been away on business. It was raining in the Flint Hills on that day, and I was flying down the highway with my cruise control on when my car, caught air, and hydroplaned. My SUV went flying straight off the road, scooting sideways between the two cars around me (thankfully harming no one), and finally ramping off the road into a deep ditch, where the car rolled, end over end, with me inside. I had never been in a car wreck before, and as the dust settled after the accident, my suitcase, my purse and my cell phone and even the shoes I had been wearing had all gone flying out of the car when I flipped.

I had a severe pain in my chest where it had hit the steering wheel and was deeply bruised, and knew I needed to check to make sure I could walk, so I reached down and unbuckled my seatbelt which promptly dropped my dazed and confused body further down into the deep recesses of the truck with a terrible thud. It was then that realized my car had landed on its side. I literally had to climb up towards to the driver's side door which was now standing right side up facing the sky, serving as the "top" of my car, and my only exit out. The rest of the windows in my car were dark with dirt and mud. I stood, with both bare feet on my steering wheel, and tried to jump to get enough momentum to try to push my driver's side door up and open so I could crawl out and make my escape. But everytime I tried to use my arms to pull myself up and out of the car, a pain so powerful shot through my chest that I literally could not breathe from it. It slammed my chest so hard, I actually whimpered out loud, as I failed, again and again, to get that door open.

Finally, I heard voices. Two kindly older men,"Veterans," I remember they told me, saw my accident and were nice enough to try to stop and help me in the pouring rain. They told me to save my strength, as I heard them struggling to get on top of my car to open the door to help me escape. They finally managed to get the car door open, and helped to hoist me out of the twisted wreck that was now my car.

One of them, reached back into my car and fished out my winter coat, and put it on me as I stood in a daze in the pouring rain, barefoot. The other man, used his cell phone to call the Highway Patrol. To me, it felt like everyone was moving in slow motion. The men were so polite and insisted on standing and waiting with me, for the police to arrive. Making small talk, they asked me what had happened, and tried to make me feel better by telling me that my car insurance would pay for everything, and not to worry. At this point, the Highway Patrolmen arrived and asked me if I wanted an ambulance to take me to the hospital. I nodded my head, yes, because, I was having trouble breathing and I was afraid my lung might collapse on me out here in the middle of the Flint Hills. The ambulance finally arrived and as they loaded me onto the stretcher the nice Highway Patrolman told me he would bring me my personal effect and cell phone once he found them. As the doors to the ambulance closed, I realized I knew no one's phone number by heart, to call for help. All of my numbers were stored in my cell phone, the same cell phone that had now gone M.I.A.

At the hospital in Emporia, KS, I waited in an Emergency Room bed for what seemed like an eternity, unable to move due to the pain in my chest and noticing my shin was also in a lot of pain. They took x-rays of both aching body parts and I was sure I would pass out just from twisting to get my boo-boo's under the x-ray just so. When I got back to my room, the Highway Patrolman was waiting and had brought my cell phone and purse that he had found with everything still intact. Amazing. I was so grateful for him for bringing back my personal effects to me. What would I have done without my phone?

At that point, the hospital released me with a serious chest bruise and a shin that had almost cracked a bone in the accident, but instead was only bruised . . .protected it would seem by the lower half of my dashboard. I should also mention that the Policeman, before he left, told me that I would have most likely been dead had it not been for my seatbelt. (People, please wear your seatbelts. Please.)

I was released from the hospital with nothing more than a prescription for painkillers. As I sat in the waiting area of the hospital in Emporia, I dialed "Cowboy's" cell number and explained calmly what had happened and where I was. I hesistated leaning on him for anything involving the accident, as we were still so new in our relationship. I didn't want him to think I couldn't handle things on my own. That's when he told me to stay right there, and he would be there in 30 minutes. Exactly 30 minutes later, "Cowboy" strolled through the front doors of the hospital, wearing his dressy work clothes, with his long, dark trench coat flying behind him. His eyes took me in, and I could see the genuine worry and concern for me in them. But, the moment between us passed, as I was already on the phone arguing with the tow truck company on where I could locate my truck to clean it out. I looked up, and motioned for "Cowboy" to come sit next to me in the waiting room of the hospital. I thought he never looked more handsome to me, than he did right at that moment. I, on the other hand, must have looked like a fright. I was covered in mud from head to toe, my bare feet had dried mud caked all over them, as my shoes were never recovered. My hair was wet and stuck to my head, and my cheeks, as I turned to kiss "Cowboy" hello. He tried to hug me, but I was in too much pain for that.

He managed to get me into the car, where I realized that I was starting to get tired from all of the excitement and adrenaline of the day. We drove to the tow truck lot in Emporia, where I was preparing for a fight to get access to my truck. The tow truck driver was worried if he let me clean out my truck he would never get paid for the tow. "Cowboy" told me to stay in the car, that he would handle it. Sure enough, 5 minutes later, he was being escorted over to my completely mangled, and definitely totaled truck, to clean out what he could salvage. He made several trips from my car to his, dumping old CD's, ice scrapers and countless pairs of sunglasses lost under my car seats forever, into a cardboard box in his trunk. "My life in pieces," I thought, as I watched him carry armload after armload of my crap from my truck to his car.

When he got back into the car, he was soaked to the bone from the rain. That's when he suddenly grabbed my face and kissed me hard on the mouth. When I pulled back, amused by his sudden expression of passion, I realized that he had tears in his eyes. He whispered hoarsely, "I almost lost you, today. I just found you, and I almost lost you," he said nodding to the general direction of my mangled truck. He whispered, "I had no idea how bad the wreck had been, Baby, until I saw your truck." I was truly touched by his raw and honest emotion. I reached out and stroked his cheek in an effort to assure him I wasn't going anywhere. That was when I realized, that I was likley in love with this man, who I had only known for a month.

We drove back to Kansas City then, where he insisted on taking me back to his place out south. I was honestly too tired to argue with him, so I agreed. The Highway Patrolman had brought me my muddy and mangled suitcase that still had all my necessities in tact. It appeared this was to be my first sleep-over at his place.

He suggested that I soak in a hot bath to calm my nerves, and began to run the water for me. He suddenly poked his head back into the living room and asked me what sounded good for dinner. I realized then that I was starving. I said the only thing that I could think of that sounded good to me: tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. It was my go-to, never fail, comfort food of choice, and I had just exposed it to a man I was trying to impress. "Some Foodie, I am," I thought to myself. He smiled broadly and said: "Great, THAT is something, I do know how to make."

I dumped my muddy, wet clothes by the bathroom door. I heard him call through the bathroom door, as I slid into the tub, that he was running to the grocery store for a few things and would be right back. I told him to take his time. The bathwater felt like warm velvet, and the water immediately started to unknot my knots. As soon as I was sure he had gone, I began to cry. Releasing all of pent-up the shock and horror of that day, in liquid form. I cried tears of sadness, gratefulness, love, worry and mostly just shock and relief. I cried the tears I had so carefully hidden from the world in order to handle what I needed to handle to be able to power through the entire experience without falling apart. I cried the tears of a grown woman, who was finally able to let it all go.

I didn't realize he had been standing outside the bathroom door listening to me cry, unsure if he was welcome. He eventually knocked on the door and asked to come in, and as he approached the side of the bathtub I wiped my eyes and apologized for being a bit of an emotional wreck. He plucked me out of the tub soaking wet and hugged me, tightly holding me to his chest. I was worried about getting his clothes all wet. He just wanted to make me feel welcome and safe in his house. He grabbed the towel from off the toilet and wrapped it around me, helping me to dry off. He disappeared then, and came back with a t-shirt that I could slip into to eat dinner. As I slipped it over my head, I saw that it said, "I (heart) Bacon" on the front of it. Nothing could have been furthest from the truth. I was more than a little "over" bacon at that point. Bacon did not make everything better, and I knew that. I tried to imagine him wearing this shirt, but could not. Little did I know that inside his dresser drawer was an entire wardrobe of funny little t-shirts that said funny little things. It was one of the things I had yet to learn about my "Cowboy."

When I emerged from the bathroom, I plopped down at his dining room table. He had come back from the store and started dinner already. He was making my favorite, creamy tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, just as I requested. He did not poke fun of me, or act like it was strange at all that I had asked for this childhood treat for dinner. In fact, he seemed thrilled to be making it. The comforting smells coming from his kitchen instantly relaxed me, and I watched amused as he puttered around his own kitchen, opening this drawer and then that one. He pulling out this pan, and then that spatula, for the grilled cheese. I was enthralled with his ease in the kitchen. This man, CAN cook, I thought to myself.

When he put the plate with the bowl of hot warm tomato soup and the cheesy and crunchy grilled cheese sandwich down in front of me, I smiled like a little girl. A broad, girlish smile, full of delight and anticipation for the meal that I was about to enjoy. He had, indeed, made my favorite meal for me, I mused, giddy at the thought. It may have been the fact that I had not eaten all day, or the excitement of the day's events, but I ate that tomato soup and that grilled cheese sandwich with gusto. I enthusiastically dunked my grilled cheese sandwich into both my bowl of soup, and occasionally his tomato soup too. I sopped up my soup with my ooey-gooey cheesey sandwich and asked for more, which he gladly served to me, applauding my appetite like a little Italian Grandmother.

At the end of dinner, I was stuffed. I felt warm and comforted and . . .loved. Yes, I felt loved.

As, "Cowboy" tried to help me into bed that night, it was a nightmare. I could sit straight up, or lie flat on my back in relative comfort, but the trip up or down between those two parallels was terribly painful for my poor bruised and battered chest. "Cowboy" wrapped his arms around me, and then slowly he tried to lower me down onto his bed. Meanwhile, I was yelping like a battered puppy the whole trip down. Once I was finally flat on my back in bed, and had caught by breath, I looked up into his bright blue eyes to find him smiling down at me. His arms were still curled around my back supporting me. He whispered to me: "You scared me today. I was afraid I might have lost you. I am going to take good care of you, I promise." Tears suddenly started tearing out of my eyes, running down my cheeks and into my ears without my permission. I could feel his worry and concern for me, but mostly, I could FEEL his love.

That's when he looked me in the eye and told me he loved me. "I love you, Jenny," he said quietly. I lay in his arms, crying the tears I could no longer control and I told him, "I'm so glad, because, I love you, too."

He kissed me, then . . . and held me until my tears stopped. When he finally released me from his embrace, and when to change his clothes to get ready for bed . . .I looked down and realized that I was still wearing his "I (Heart) Bacon" t-shirt. Nice, I thought. Not the attire I thought I would be wearing when a man professed his love to me, but "it'll do," I thought to myself as the pain medicine kicked in and sent me off into a deep peaceful sleep.

March 05, 2012

Isn't Babs just gorgeous here? I love this picture of my Mom. I can see myself in her in this picture.

True Confession: I have been trying to write this post about the day my Mom died for over a year, and I have, until now, been unable to do it. Every time I've tried to sit down and write about this, I've found that it was all just a little . . .well, too much. It was too fresh, too raw, too sad, too personal, too weird, too off-topic. . .too. . .too. . .much. However, I woke up this morning and realized it was time. For those of you who don't know, my Mom died of ALS, otherwise known as Lou Gehrig's disease. She was only 66 years old. When she was first diagnosed with the disease, I wrote a post called "Feeding my Soul," but when I went back to look for the link to that post, I realized I had originally called it "Eating is Overrated." Ha! Probably, NOT the message a self-professed Foodie should be uttering out loud. I was editing myself for you, even back then. Well, not today, my friends. Today, you get Foodie raw, emotional and uncensored. Bear with me. It will be worth it. I promise.

If you have not lost either of your parents, then you simply don't know. It is THE hardest thing in the world. You, unavoidably, and without your consent, end up feeling like an orphan. Abandoned. Yet, this is a story about how on the day my Mom died, I was not alone. Yes, I was lucky enough to have people around to comfort me on that day, and, yes, I had phone calls & texts from all my loving friends . . .but even more importantly, before the sun set on that day, I had my Mom with me in a very profound and unexpected way, and I want to share that story with you.

Where to begin? Well, January 20th, 2011, the day before Mom died, had been a pretty great day for her, all things considered. My brother, Chris, and his wife, Andrea, had come over to visit with their two babies earlier that day. Mom loved her kids and was crazy about her grand-kids. She always looked forward to a visit from her grand-babies.

A nurse, who came to check-in on Mom at home, had asked Mom if she might be interested in having a Minister come and visit her. Mom said she did, so, that afternoon we arranged to have a Minister (that my Mom had never met) come to pay her a visit. None of us kids were home when he came to pray with Mom, so we will never know what was said, but clearly, unbeknownst to any of us,Mom was already preparing to leave us, even then.

I was also in Tulsa on that day. I had been visiting Tulsa at least twice a month, to help my brother care for my Mom, and to host my underground supperclub called the Test Kitchen. The night Mom passed away, I was hosting my 3rd, and most important dinner, in Tulsa. As I was setting up all day, I kept thinking I should swing by to say "Hi" to my Mom, but as the day went on, and the dinner hour approached, I knew I wouldn't have enough time to get over to see her. It is a decision I will always regret. It would have been my last chance to see my Mom alive.

I had been staying with my Mom, up until the last few months of her life, when I would come to Tulsa to visit. When it was time to hire 24-hour care for my Mom, and the night nurses began staying over, I started sleeping over at a friend's apartment to give them the extra bedroom, as it was closer to my Mom's room. It was a natural progression of a relationship I was having with a man in Tulsa, who we will call "The Mayor," and my time spent with him and my son, Tastie, were the only bright spots in a terrible year filled with death and divorce for me.

Mom went to bed early. She would watch TV for a few hours, and then fall asleep, leaving the night nurses to shut off her TV, after she had dozed off. Mom could no longer work her fingers enough to use the remote by herself, and it drove her crazy. She had the type of ALS that affected her upper body and her throat and voice. Which meant that although my Mom could, thankfully, still walk at the time of her death, she could not speak very well or use her arms or hands in any capacity. She could no longer hug any of us, and her warm hugs were the best. To adapt, we realized Mom could whip her wrist up and give us a love pat on our bottoms with her hand, so that became her way of hugging us. We would all laugh every time she did that. I would be saying goodbye to Mom, putting my arms around her, and I would feel her hand whip up and tap my bum. I knew what it meant.

The other thing Mom did as soon as her voice started to give from the weakening of the muscles in her throat, was she would say "I love you" compulsively and at the most interesting times. She kept telling us she knew one day she would not be able to say those words, so anytime it crossed her mind to say it, she would blurt them out. Hundreds of times a day, she would say those three little words to us. Sometimes the "I love you's" came 5 minutes apart, as her dementia that came with her ALS began to play tricks with her memory. Sometimes they came when she had soiled herself, and we were bent down trying to clean her up. Even at times when I was frustrated with her or her disease, my response was always the same, "I love you too, Momma."

As my Test Kitchen dinner ended in Tulsa that night, was probably about the time my Mom would have been dozing off to sleep. The Mayor came to help me load up all of my gear after the dinner was over, and I followed him back to his apartment. I was excited that the dinner had gone so well, and so many influential people had been in attendance. I was finally getting some traction in Tulsa. Then, as we crawled into bed that night, we whispered excitedly in the dark about our plans for the morning, as we had purchased tickets months earlier, to visit Los Angeles to see The Mayor's family. It had been a long time since I had been to Los Angeles. I was looking forward to this time away from reality.

As I drifted off to sleep on The Mayor's shoulder, it was the wee hours of the morning, January 21st, 2011.

Across town, Mom was also in her bed, sleeping peacefully. Juanita, her night nurse, had heard Mom stir and she went in and sat at her bedside to check on her. Juanita told us that Mom's breathing had suddenly started to become erratic. As she spoke softly to my Mom, telling her to take it easy, and calm her breathing . . .she said Mom never woke up or opened her eyes, but instead she took one last raggedy gasp of air, into her already deteriorating lungs, and left us, and the terrible disease she had been suffering with, behind.

Juanita called my brother first, and he called the paramedics. With my brother being a fireman in Tulsa, they were over at my Mom's house with lighting speed. My brother, Chris, along with Juanita had checked my Mom's vitals and they knew she was already gone. My brother has seen enough death in his line of work, to know that this was real. He felt so relived that Mom was gone before the disease could do any more damage to her quality of living. He whispered his own good-byes to Mom, and then allowed her body to be removed by the medial team that had stepped out of the room to give him some privacy.

Across town, The Mayor and I are fresh from the shower and zipping up our suitcases to head to the airport. We are running a little behind, and I am walking out the the door of his apartment when my brother calls me. A call I had not thought I would ever receive. I thought I would be there when my Mom left the earth. I had assumed when Mom died she would be in the hospital, surrounded by all of her kids, with each of us getting a chance to say good-bye. You know, exactly like it is in the movies. As, I am riding down the elevator with my suitcase, I can feel The Mayor reading my face and body language as I am trying to digest the words my brother was saying on the phone. Quietly, The Mayor began to take his coat off and lay it over his suitcase. He understood what was happening to me, before I did. My Mom is gone, and I never got a chance to say good-bye. "There is nothing you can do here," my brother said to me firmly over the phone, "you should go to Los Angeles." When I protested just as firmly about staying to help him with Mom's final preparations, he said: "Jenny, you might as well go. Take the time off. There is nothing more you can do for Mom here, she is gone." So, much to The Mayor's surprise, I told him we needed to get to the airport. We were going to Los Angeles. I think I was in shock. I just did what my brother had told me to do.

As you can imagine, I cried quietly on The Mayor's shoulder on and off again on the plane ride to Los Angeles. At times, I was relived and elated she was no longer suffering, but then the feelings of guilt and loss would creep in and I would feel sad all over again. When we made our tranfers, I would check my phone, Twitter and Facebook feeds out of habit . . .only to find wonderful words of love and support from friends, family and followers. You can't imagine how much I needed those words of encouragement and care. They were priceless to me. It made me feel less alone, somehow.

When we arrived in Los Angeles, we had a bite of lunch, and then we went to the Santa Monica Pier. I asked The Mayor if he would take me someplace where I could cry alone, with my memories of my Mom, and by the ocean seemed like a good place to do it. He left me on a bench, at my request, at the end of the pier. The sun was setting and the water sparkled like diamonds from the sun reflecting off of it's every surface.

As I sat there waiting for the tears to come, I was looking out at this vast body of water, I thought about how glad I was that Mom was finally free. Free of the pain, the disease . . .her soul was also free. Free to experience other things outside of her body, that had failed her in the end. Free like the waves of the ocean or the birds flying overhead. And as I let the tears flow down my face, I whispered to my Mom how much I loved her and how much I would miss her and how glad I was that her spirit was finally, finally free.

I was not alone on the Santa Monica Pier that day. Hundred of people milled about. Children ran across the boardwalk with ice creams in their hands, men were fishing below me, and a guitar player suddenly began to sing "Tears in Heaven" by Eric Clapton. I laughed out loud when he started singing because I thought . . .OF COURSE, while I am sitting here with hundreds of strangers all around me, thousands of miles from home, mourning the loss of my Mom, this guy would start singing THIS song.

As I reached inside my purse for a tissue to blow my nose with, a pretty young woman in her early 20's in a white bikini came and sat down next to me on the bench. I finished blowing my nose, unaware of her presence, until she scooted closer to me on the bench leaned in and whispered, "Are you okay?" I jumped a little at the sound of her voice, and immediately apologized for it. I looked over to see her pretty tan legs and white bikini bottoms, and I realized that my crying must have attracted her attention. Without looking her pretty face, (I knew I must look a mess and was embarrassed), I mumbled into my tissue that my Mom had died earlier that day, and I had come here to say good-bye to her. I apologized for making her worry and assured her that I would be okay. She was clearly unconvinced by my words, and she slid closer to me and put her arm around my back squeezing my shoulder tightly as the tears continued to come, although I was trying to will them to stop.

She sat with me for about 5 minutes, her arm strong and tight around my shoulder as I sobbed. When my crying had subsided and she suddenly said: "Would it be all right if I gave you a hug?" Immediately, my inner voice rejected that request. I am not the type of person to accept hugs from strangers on the street with ease. But as I sat there, feeling the acute loss of my Mom, I thought, "What the hell!" So, I said quietly to her, "I would like that. Thank you."

Without hesitation, this beautiful girl put both her arms around me, at the same time I put mine around her, and we sat on that bench and hugged. Her skin felt warm and smooth, and I was in awe of her openness to try to help a stranger heal with a hug. We broke the embrace and I went back staring at my hands in my lap. I mumbled a quiet "thank you" toward her and she whispered back in response, "You are going to be alright, everything is going to be alright," and she leaned over and kissed me on my shoulder, which was something my Mom used to do to me growing up when we would be sitting on the couch watching TV, side by side. Then the girl slowly got up and left me, right where she had found me on that bench at the end of the pier. Suddenly, I felt light. All of the pain and sorrow was gone. I knew she was right, it was going to be okay. That's when I realized that Mom had been HERE with me. She had come to me on this pier in California in the form of this beautiful blonde girl to tell me good-bye, with a hug and a familiar kiss I instantly recognized. I snapped my head up to see where this girl had gone. I wanted to chase after her, to thank her and look her in the face and see if I could feel Mom's spirit around her somehow . . .but she was gone. I stood up on top of my bench to see past the crowds to see if I could spot her, but, literally, like a ghost, she was gone.

When I got back to Tulsa, after my trip, my brother and I went to the funeral home to see my Mom's body before it was cremated. It was the one request my Mom had asked of me over and over as her disease progressed. She insisted that I, as the eldest daughter, come and view her body before it was cremated, just to really make sure she was gone before they cremated her. Mom had many irrational fears as the dementia had taken over, and this seemed like one I could ease her mind by agreeing to. My brother went with me as we walked back to the viewing room to see a frail, thin and freshly showered Mom laying on a table with a sheet draped over most of her body. She was so, so gone. It was like looking at a shell. A vessel that once held the hilarious and loving woman I knew as my Mom.

As we walked back to the funeral directors office to sign the final papers, he produced three letters, one for each of us kids, and handed them to us telling us that they had been part of her final instructions. They were similar we realized on comparison, but she personalized each with a little something. Written in pen at the top of my letter was: "This is for Jenny." She wrote all three of our letters back in 2006, long before she knew of the disease that would end her life.

As, I scanned the pages of my letter, a paragraph jumped out at me from the rest. It read: "Also, on a personal level, I do strongly believe that life continues after death. Our spirits never ever die. I want you to be aware that in whatever way possible, I will try to let you know that I have found eternal happiness . . .look for me, OK?" Look for me, she wrote, and in all cap's...OK? I felt like the breath had been knocked out of me. She had done exactly as she promised, she had come to let me know that she was happy and safe.

We went out to the Tallgrass Prairie in July of last year to scatter my Mom's ashes, as she had requested. My two brother's and I held up the plastic bag, that seemed so heavy in our hands, to let the wind take Mom across the prairie where the buffalo roamed in Oklahoma. It was the beautiful closure that all of us needed. We stood around taking pictures and telling stories about Mom with my Mom's family who had come to Oklahoma to release her ashes with us. I stood on that hillside and told the story of how Mom had to come to say goodbye to me, just as she promised in her letter. There wasn't a dry eye in the group, including mine, when I finished. Mom was truly all around us on that hot July day. We felt her presence and her peace.

This post is in loving memory of my beautiful Mother, Barbara Louise Whittington. I love you, Mom. Then, now and always.

Well, my friends, this post was hugely personal, so I thank you, for allowing me to eat first today, instead of feeding all of you. I, for once, wrote this post to feed myself. Love and light to all of you on this day and everyday.

May 31, 2010

This is a post about my Mom and me . . .and food. It will be more of a personal post, that I hope you will indulge me by reading. I am writing this for me, but I am sharing it with you, because it has to do with food and how my views of it are changing, shifting and morphing. Foodie is growing up.

Exhibit A: After months of not being able to read the words on my computer screen past 10 pm, I have finally broken over and bought a pair of +1.00 reading glasses. Welcome to the beginning of the end of my eyesight. But, let me tell you something, if you have a sexy librarian fantasy, you should see me in these specs. Hair pulled back in a loose bun with a pen stuck through it holding it up off my face as I bend over the computer screen to read it. I am foxx. Yep, with two xx's.

Right now, food is my passion. I go to bed thinking about it and wake up the same way. Never has food been more important to me than right now. I am putting all of my eggs in one basket. I am now attempting to make a living from eating it, serving it, recommending it and writing about it. No safety net. In the words of Gary Vaynerchuk it's time for me to "Crush it". (Which by the way I am both reading and listening to on my iPod, right now. If you know Gary, you know you have to hear Gary to get it, and him.) So, I've incorporated . . .Foodie LLC. Thank you. All I can say is Legalzoom.com is a wonderful thing.

Writing about food and what is going on in the food scene in Kansas City and beyond is truly a pleasure, but it has been one that I have had little time for lately. Part of it has to do with major changes in my own personal life, and now my focus on getting my company up and running, but they also have to do with changes in my Mom's health. My Mom was diagnosed with ALS or Lou Gerhig's disease last July, but we think she had been dealing with the disease at least a year before she was diagnosed. It is terminal. Most people live 2-5 years after they have been diagnosed. As it is described in all the medical literature: "People with ALS experience a loss of muscle strength and coordination that eventually gets worse. This eventually makes one unable to do routine tasks such as going up steps, getting out of a chair, or swallowing. Breathing or swallowing muscles may be the first muscles affected. As the disease gets worse, more muscle groups develop problems."

My Mom's particular brand of ALS has also come with a mild dementia, which honestly will be more of a blessing as her disease progresses. Right now, it just means that with no governor on her thought process, there have been some pretty hilarious things coming out of her mouth. When someone recently asked her how she was doing, she looked up at them and said "I am delicious, thanks for asking." My Mom takes after me.

To know my Mom, is to know a part of me. My Mom is simply my best friend. Growing up, we went through a period where we were wearing our hair the same way, and we were often mistaken for each other from a far. She cheered at my graduation from high school, then college and stood by me as my Matron of Honor at my wedding. I cried when she called to tell me about her breast cancer diagnosis over 10 years ago, and celebrated her being cancer free by doing the Walk for the Cure with her. I was heart-broken that she could never really get her life back on track after she and my Dad divorced. Yet, I was so proud of her for getting her college degree late in life and going on to become a Special Education Teacher in Tulsa. She also stood at the foot of the bed as I delivered Tastie at St. Luke's Hospital. She has been my greatest cheerleader and my rock. I love her so, so very much.

When I heard the news about her condition, I was at my brother William's apartment in Dallas. I was on a pit-stop on a road trip to Austin. I had just arrived at his apartment when he told me of Mom's ALS diagnosis. I was in shock, and I tried to contain the crying to be brave for William's sake. We called Mom and my other brother Chris, and talked and cried until I was both hungry and thirsty. My brother then took me out for dinner that night, and we both sat and ate and tried to digest what ALS really meant for Mom and for us, as her children.

So, I find it more than a little ironic that at a time when food, eating, writing, restaurants, chefs and cooking are so important to me, is same the time my Mom has lost the ability to eat. She was experiencing quite a lot of choking, when she was attempting to eat food. So, the doctor suggested a feeding tube to allow her to take her nutrients without the added risk of choking on her meals. She was against it for a long time. My Mom loves to eat, and has a sweet tooth for days. It was one of the few earthly pleasures she could still enjoy with this horrible disease. She did not want it taken away from her, and we were conflicted about the idea of trying to take it away from her. Then, a week before her 66th birthday, she told my brother she was ready for the feeding tube. We wasted no time getting her in to see the doctor. We wanted to get her in and get it done before she could change her mind.

My brother Chris, (the fireman)(seen here with me and Mom and his daughter Special K!) and his wife, Andrea, (the nurse) are the day to day care takers for Mom. They both have had medical training and they live just down the street from Mom's house. They are on a much deserved vacation this week and I have come to fill in for them and care for Mom. Which means I needed to learn how to use her new feeding tube. These are the 10 Steps or instructions my brother left for me to follow to feed my Mom:

Step 1) Have Mom sit on her couch and place a towel on her lap.

Step 2) Take a her feeding tube and pull the cap off at the end of the tube.

Step 3) Unlock the clamp that is on the other end of the tube. To unlock clamp, pull back on the taller portion of the clamp to release the depressed portion. Keep the open end of the tube higher then her stomach when you open the clamp so that her stomach contents doesn't pour out. (WHAT???)

Step 4) Put a 60 cc syringe into the open end of the tube. Slowly pull back on the syringe to check stomach contents. If 60 cc's of fluids are drawn out, this means Mom's stomach is too full to have a feeding. If this is the case, slowly push the syringe back down to push the contents back into her stomach. There will always be a little bit of content that comes out. As long as it's not a lot, then she is ready to be fed. No matter how much content comes out, always slowly push the syringe back in so that the content returns to her stomach. After you have pushed the contents back into her stomach, press the tube clamp back down, locking it into place. (I am feeling a little faint!)

Step 5) After you have checked her stomach contents, you now need to flush the tube. Remove the plunger portion of the syringe completely. Insert the syringe back into the open end of the tube, holding the syringe upright and at about the level of Mom's stomach. Pour 30 cc's of room temperature water into the syringe. Unlock the tube clamp and the water will slowly drain into Mom's stomach. The syringe is basically being used as a funnel at this point... letting gravity take the water into her stomach. The higher you hold the syringe/funnel the faster the water will pour into her stomach. This is why you want to keep the syringe/funnel at Mom's waist level so that it doesn't drain to quickly.

Step 6) When the water has been emptied from the syringe/funnel, but there is still water remaining in the tube, clamp the tube back off. Now you will feed Mom her nutrients. Pour 60 cc's of nutrients into the syringe/funnel. This will basically top off the syringe/funnel because they are about 60 cc's. Each syringe has numbers like a measuring cup so you will know exactly how much nutrients you are pouring in. After 60 cc's of nutrients are in the syringe/funnel, open the tube clamp and, again, keep the syringe/funnel at Mom's waist level and watch the nutrients slowly pour into Mom's stomach. Again, keep the syringe/funnel at about waist high so that it does not pour in too quickly. This will take about 2-3 minutes until the syringe/funnel is empty. When the syringe/funnel is empty, but there is still nutrient in the tube, clamp the tube back off.

Step 7) Pour an another 50 cc's of room temperature water into the syringe/funnel. Re-open tube clamp and again have the syringe/water at Mom's waist level and allow gravity to pull the water into Mom's stomach, thus you will be flushing the tube clean.

Step 8) When the syringe/funnel is empty of water... allow most of the remaining water in the tube to drain into her stomach. When most of it has drained into her stomach, clamp off the tube and put the cap back on the end of the tube. It is perfectly fine to leave a little bit of water in her tube when finished.

Step 9) Rinse out / wash the syringe, plunger and everything else so that it can be used again. Put some tin foil over the open / unused nutrient formula and put can in the refrigerator.

Step 10) When it is time for Mom's next feeding, remove open can from refrigerator and let it sit out for about 30 minutes to get closer to room temperature before you funnel it into her stomach.

Perhaps you can see why my non-medical training . . .made this relatively simple task (now that I have actually done it a few times) extremely daunting. But, I knew this was something I was completely capable of doing and as I re-read these instructions I could visualize each step in my mind. I knew with a little practice I could absolutely do this one thing for my Mom. I could feed her.

Mom can still eat by mouth, but most of her nutrients and calories now come from the feeding tube, 2-3 times a day. As I watch her sit and enjoy a cookie and some juice as her "dessert" by mouth, I am struck by the difference between eating for pleasure and eating for sustenance. So much of what I am lucky enough to write about and talk about is wrapped around the pleasure of eating, my Mom is now "eating to live."

The other thing I realized is that getting the opportunity to feed Mom via her feeding tube is not as alien or strange as I imagined it to be. Feeding someone is a very intimate act, whether it is via a feeding tube or not. Feeding my Mom, gives me a chance to sit close to her and talk face to face while she "eats." It is socially no different than if Mom and I were sitting across the table from each other sharing a meal and getting caught up on our day.

The only other thing that I found humorous in all of this, was the fact that Mom no longer kept food in her house. So, literally, there was nothing in her house for me to actually eat for my meals.

As a friend said to me about my experiences feeding my Mom via her tube . . ."right now, you are getting the chance to do this one thing for the woman who at one point fed you."

You know what, my friend was right. I am feeding my soul, and my Mom, at the same time.